Tents unzip outside, footsteps follow, quiet, hushed whispers in familiar voices are heard, and Rosy's fear spikes. The last time the Anonymous Writer hadn't posted an entry on the New Moon night, he had Pied Pipered a bunch of kids from their beds. Brother's reassurances on that front felt thin and meaningless in that moment, in the whole beat that it took for her to fumble for the tent flap and unzip it.

Her heart hammers in her chest at the sight of the flowers, the figure at the front of them, at others approaching him. At least one of them is Ennis. She could have guessed that, even if she didn't hear his familiar accent. Grabbing her sweatshirt, Rosy scrambles to get out of her tent. It's calm now, there's no excitement, no mass exodus, but the urge to grab each and every student and throw them in their tents pulls her forward. God help her if anyone tries to follow this teenager anywhere, for even a step.